


Devils' Trap

by Impandagrl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Demon possession, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Insert, canon-typical action violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impandagrl/pseuds/Impandagrl
Summary: Canon-compliant fic: Sam and Dean rescue the reader from demon possession and realize she could hold valuable information- if only she could remember . . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t mean to write this. I actually told myself I wasn’t going to write fanfiction - at least not featuring Sam and Dean - because I didn’t feel like I could do them justice and I’ve really fallen in love with the characters. Then this story more or less came to me and I decided it needed to be written down.
> 
> Thanks to @jalove-wecallhimdean and @deals-with-demons (from Tumblr) for beta-ing this fic for me; I would not have been able to finish writing this story without your encouragement!

_"Tibi facias libertate servire,"_

It was a familiar scene: A freshly-painted red circle, with the star and sigils comprising a devil's trap; A chair in the center with a writhing black-eyed girl secured with iron chain.

"Te rogamus, audi nos." As Sam voiced the last words of the exorcism the girl gave a final shriek; a plume of black smoke shot out of her and circled against the confines of the trap, finally sinking and flaring up briefly before melting into the concrete floor of the abandoned building.

With the demon gone, the girl slumped in the chair, her head hanging limp; blood oozing from somewhere, mouth or nose he couldn't be sure. He was hit with the sick fear they had been too late. He rushed forward, pressing two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. Dean hovered nearby waiting for the verdict.

He found what he was searching for and felt a surge of relief, "She's alive."

The girl stirred and Sam carefully began to remove her restraints. She started to raise her head, reflexively touching her tongue to the blood that was dripping off her lip.

Dean took a step forward, "Hey, take it easy." He pressed a cleanish bandana into her newly-freed right hand and she clutched it to her nose to stem the bleeding. "What's your name?"

She glanced at Sam, who was just straightening after freeing her, before returning Dean's gaze, trying to make sense of what was going on. She was struggling, either to grasp the meaning of Dean's question or to remember the right answer, but she was finally able to croak out the word she was searching for.

“Anything damaged, besides the nose bleed?”

She considered this for a moment, before shaking her head which produced a noticeable wince, “I don't think so.”

“My name's Dean, this is my brother, Sam. We're the good guys. We need you to tell us what you remember.”

~~~  
Remember? Not much. Her brain was fighting her; it was about all she could do to remember how to speak English coherently, but it wasn't like she could explain that to the imposing figures in front of her who were waiting for an answer.

"I remember bits and pieces. Most of it’s- foggy. I remember- a girl . . . I- killed her . . ." She trailed off, scanning their faces to see if either of them were disgusted or shocked by this revelation. They shared a glance and when they resumed their scrutiny they seemed slightly less intimidating.

It was the taller one, Sam, who spoke up, his voice compelling, “That wasn't you, that was the demon that was possessing you. We think it may have been planning something; working with others in the area, but we weren't able to get it to talk. Anything you can remember could help us stop them before they hurt someone else.”

She pulled the bandana away and studied it, glad for the excuse to break eye contact. The bleeding seemed to have stopped for the most part.

She searched for a memory that might be useful, but disjointed images that eluded any attempt to grasp onto were all that she was getting. Like glimpses from a nightmare. The ringing in her ears and her throbbing skull were definitely not helping, but she didn't want to disappoint her rescuers whom she could tell were still waiting expectantly.

What if they thought she was in league with the demon if she couldn't give them anything? Or would they just assume she was weak; too scared to face the reality of what she'd done while under the- demon’s- control. She could feel her mind shrink from the word and she gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain blossoming in response. There had to be something she could offer.

“There was a place,” her voice came out too soft and she forced herself to speak up, “this one building- it- would go.” She hoped the hesitation at the passing mention of the demon had escaped their notice, but she doubted much got by them. Well, maybe she'd covered enough it hadn't been too bad.

“It would meet others there, I think. We,- it- went there several times.”

Sam's eyebrows raised and he seemed excited by her words. He rummaged through a worn duffle on the floor and pulled out a map. He approached her, but halted as he misinterpreted the distress that was growing on her face. “No one's going to hurt you, we'll make sure you're safe, but if you could show us where it is . . .” he trailed off as her discomfort became more pronounced.

“Um . . .” awesome, these competent looking guys who had just saved her were going to think she was an imbecile. She might as well get it over with.

“I'm not, ah, good with maps,” or having a sense of direction, or apparently any of the basic skills normal adult humans were supposed to magically possess, but she was pretty sure they got the picture; she couldn't bring herself to look at their response to that news.

She started babbling, anxious to make up for it, “but, I might be able to find it again; I went there enough times, I think I could recognize landmarks.” She got up the courage to peek at their reactions. They were exchanging looks again. That was kind of unsettling.

They led her out of the warehouse and into a car that was parked nearby. It was dark and she was so exhausted she stumbled and might have fallen if Sam hadn't been following close behind ready to steady her when she needed it.

She hovered on the edge of sleep as the car rumbled along the road, but her nerves were still jittery and the ride wasn't quite long enough. There was another short walk into a motel room. Beige and boring, two beds, a wooden table, and a beige armchair near the window. A couple leather-bound books on one nightstand and a duffle near one of the beds suggested the brothers had spent at least one night here already.

Dean grabbed the duffle and tossed it toward the lumpy chair. He gestured toward the bed furthest from the door. “You should get some sleep; you look like you could use it.”

She hesitated, but he continued, “Sammy and I’re taking shifts; nothing’s getting in without us knowing.” She appreciated that he had addressed her concerns without acting like he'd noticed her freezing up. Of course she was pretty sure he had, but she was grateful that he hadn't felt the need to call attention to it.

She tried not to fall into the bed. The bending required to take off her shoes seemed tortuous, but she managed and slipped under the covers jeans and all.

~~~  
Dean had taken first watch, in the last three hours there had been very little to attract attention. A short, heated argument had broken out between a couple several rooms down. A car somewhere down the street had screeched causing a dog to bark.

Inside the room Sammy slept like dead man. Shift change was in one hour and he was making the most of it. The girl had been out the second she'd hit the pillow, but he'd bet money by the way she occasionally twitched in her sleep she was having a string of unpleasant dreams.

It was the silence that alerted him she was awake, she was trying to breathe without being heard, s--t, no . . . she was trying to _cry_ without being heard. Damn it. One hour, they would have changed shifts; Sam was better at the emotional crap than he was.

He stood up and she immediately held her breath. Maybe he should just leave her be, she was obviously embarrassed. An almost inaudible sniff when she couldn't hold her breath anymore helped him make up his mind.

He walked across the room and grabbed something in each hand before approaching the bed. She was facing the wall trying to hold her breath again. He tapped her shoulder with the tissue box and she reached her arm around without turning to accept it. He waited while she blew her nose. He could hear Sam lift his head as the small commotion disrupted his deep sleep.

When she was done she whispered, “Thank you. Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb-”

“Don't worry about it, I was already awake; Sit up.” She obeyed somewhat hesitantly and he handed her the water bottle. Her hands were shaking slightly as she unscrewed the lid, but she got it open.

After the first few sips, her thirst took over and she guzzled the rest. Her stomach growled and she looked mortified at the betrayal.

Damn, brilliant work Dean. “Yeah, demons don't have to eat, and they don't care that you do. I would have offered you something earlier, but you looked like sleep was first priority,” he cut off her protests by turning his back on her and found a granola bar in one of the packs. He brought it back to her along with a second water bottle. “Eat it slowly and sip the water or it's not staying down.”

She started work on it, intent on following his instructions. He leaned on the wall nearby, careful not to face her directly; she seemed to prefer not to have an audience.

“(Y/N), isn't it?” She swallowed, nodding to confirm he'd remembered her name correctly. “Well my brother and me, we get what you're going through better than anybody. If there's something you need, speak up; we'll try to make it happen. There's no reason to try to act like you're okay if you're not, got it?”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see her duck her head and blink to hide a few fresh tears. Her voice was low, but steady when she replied “Thank you.”

~~~  
She was certain by now they were both wishing they'd interrogated the demon more thoroughly before sending it out of her. Or maybe that the demon had chosen to possess someone more useful.

She'd had a couple breakthroughs earlier in the day, but the last several hours of circling in the guys’ car made her unsure if a particular building looked familiar because she'd seen it while riding shotgun in her own mind, because they'd passed it an hour ago, or because she was so desperate to see something that triggered a memory that she was imagining it. She couldn't even be sure some of the frustration she could feel emanating from the two in the front seat wasn't projection.

They'd stopped asking her every five minutes about this or that street corner at least, but probably that was a bad sign.

“I'm sorry, I don't think so.” She hated how small her voice came out, but honestly she wasn't sure if she really wanted them to hear her.

She could sense Sam glance over the seat at her and peered intently out the window to avoid seeing his face. She didn't know if she could handle assessing the level of annoyance she was causing them.

“Dean, I think we could all use a break. It's two o'clock; we should stop for some lunch.”

Dean snorted and seemed about to argue, but they did their silent mind meld or whatever and he apparently conceded.

Great, now they were pitying her. Awesome. She rubbed her temple. She supposed she could add demon possession to the list of things she sucked at.

~~~  
Dean was trying to figure out whether this whole thing was a dead end. Sam had insisted they'd stop working the demon over once it had become clear they'd exhausted any methods that didn't cause harm to the possessed girl.

Now that he'd- _met_ her, so to speak- he didn't regret letting Sam's conscience be their guide. However, he was fast losing what hope he'd had that it was going to pay off as far as furthering the case was concerned.

It wasn't the girl's fault, but maybe it was time to move on to plan b. Or at least put some thought into what plan b was exactly. The issue was bringing it up with her there.

He couldn't decide if her reluctance to order anything at the drive-thru or make eye contact ever since they'd brought their food back to the motel was a result of the failed venture of the past few hours or because she'd recently been inhabited by hell-spawn, but either way he was just going to have to insist on a private meeting with Sam.

She was currently sitting at the table absentmindedly drawing in a puddle of condensation with her pinky finger. She looked up suddenly and winced when she realized he'd been staring at her.

“Um, remember when you said if I needed something I should speak up?” She flushed and Dean was wondering what he'd gotten himself into, but she must have been worried she would lose her nerve; she didn't wait for a reply.

“If that still applies, I was just wondering if I could have some ibuprofen. Or Advil.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, all that buildup for a couple otc pain pills?

“Uh, no problem, I'm sure we have some in the Impala somewhere. Gimme a sec.” He jogged out to the parking lot, returning a minute later with a bottle which he handed over. She thanked him, poured three rust-colored pills into her palm, and downed them with a little water.

“Anything we should know about?”

She shrugged a little too casually, “It's just a headache.”

His mind went to the horrific headaches Sam used to deal with from his psychic episodes. “Is this something new?”

Something flickered across her face like she found his question amusing somehow.

“I've had chronic migraines since I was 16; a lot of things can trigger them including stress,” she smirked, “apparently being possessed by a demon counts.”

She was almost convincing, but she busied herself with picking at her fries as an excuse to break eye contact. She might look soft, but he was beginning to guess she had a lot of experience downplaying her pain; joking about it. Well, sorry, sweetheart, he had invented those moves.

He crossed his arms and gave his voice a slight accusatory edge, “Now what I want to know is how long that was going on before you decided to ask for the meds?”

She started at first, but her answer had a hint of a bite to it, “Honestly, I’m not sure. The only way I know how to function with almost daily migraines is to try to ignore it as much as I can. I was really focused on what we were doing so by the time I realized I had a headache, it was _really_ bad, and then I was was too embarrassed to even think about bringing it up.”

She ran her hand through her hair, her fingers pressing into her scalp, and turned her attention back to her fries before mumbling, “If you're wondering if that was the reason for my being so useless today- it probably didn't help.”

“Hey, you know we don't blame you for that, right? You can't make yourself remember something.”

She whipped her head up, her eyes alarmed, “I didn't mean to . . . I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to say you'd done anything!”

Sam leaned forward and held her gaze, “Is that what you meant earlier: ‘if that still applies’? You figured since you didn't help us enough or whatever we wouldn't give you some Advil?”

“N-no, not exactly,” her gaze flicked to Dean then back to Sam. “I just felt uncomfortable asking when I figured I'd wasted so much of your time. It wasn't that I thought you were like that, I just kept wishing the demon had picked someone more helpful and I couldn't imagine it didn't cross your minds . . .”

Sam shook his head, “First off, you didn't waste anything. You gave us a lot of information we didn't have before. I've been working out a way to use that info to narrow down where we have left to search.

“Secondly, let me get this straight, you wish the demon hadn't picked you, not because your life has been turned upside-down, but because you don't feel you've been helpful enough? Someone else might not be willing to help us, or even be able to after being a demon puppet for weeks.”

She looked down at the table again, “Thanks; sorry, I really wasn't fishing.”

Sam, slightly exasperated, turned to Dean with a look that invited him to take a turn at reasoning with her.

Dean was amused, but kept his voice casual, “Is there anything else that can help the headache?”

She gave him a half-hearted attempt at a smile, “Hopefully within the next twenty minutes or so the ibuprofen’ll kick in, and the food will help. I don't know of anything else besides maybe distraction.”

“Anything in particular?” he pressed, giving her a look that made it clear he wouldn't tolerate an attempt to dodge the question.

“TV, usually: the dim light doesn't strain my eyes and it can sometimes take my mind off it.”

“Well, you're in luck,” he tossed the remote onto the bed she'd used last night. “We're gonna work on what you already gave us like Sam said, and we have a couple other leads to run through. You're taking a break.”

~~~  
There wasn't much noise for the next few hours besides the low sounds of the television and the guys occasionally murmuring to each other. Dean busied himself making calls and perusing local news stories while Sam was glued to his computer.

After about thirty minutes, Sam glanced up from the screen to ask her how her head was doing and she reported it was a bit better. She hadn't wanted to bore him with the details; she'd already whined enough for one day. The meds had taken the pain down by about half, but she was still feeling dizzy and nauseated. It was better than nothing; definitely more manageable.

It was around five o'clock when Sam stretched from the cramped position he'd assumed. “So get this,” he gestured for her to join him and she came to see what he was drawing her attention to on the computer. It was a map. Lovely.

“I used the results from our work this morning and added the data from the media and witness accounts that led us to you in the first place and it gives us a possible zone for this meeting place. Within that I figured out the most probable areas to search.

“For now, I want you to forget about how you got to the building and tell me everything you can remember about the building itself.”

She did her best to pry her brain for every detail she had. The memories still seemed slippery, like her brain didn't want to access them, but she had to.

“That's great, okay, let’s see where that gets us.”

She nodded, grateful that she was off the hook for a minute. She could feel her temples throbbing from forcing herself to dredge up things her brain was trying to repress.

She went back to sit on the edge of the bed and absentmindedly started fiddling with her shirt. It was the [one with the pandas](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0267/4223/products/panda-hug-t-shirt-teeturtle_800x.jpg?v=1510594895) that she'd gotten off [teeturtle](http://www.teeturtle.com). There was a dark stain on the front that she was trying to pretend not to know what it was.

She looked up to see that Dean had been watching her. She felt uncomfortable, like he could see right through her. There was no doubt in her mind that he knew it was blood, that it wasn't hers, and that he had noticed her hands were shaking again. So she was very surprised when he looked away lazily.

“Hey, kid, no offense, but if there's any chance we're gonna be stuck riding together again, you're going to have to take a shower.”

She suppressed a giggle though she could feel her face flush from embarrassment. “Oh. Yeah, I guess demons don't care about BO either.”

“Toss your stuff outside, I'll find you something to wear tonight while they're in the wash.”

Oh. He'd noticed all right. She felt her eyes prickle and willed herself not to cry. She'd managed to keep the wall up all day, but his understanding threatened to bring it crashing down. She cleared her throat, “Yeah, okay, thanks.”

The shower was glorious. She hadn't realized she'd needed it so badly. She scrubbed at her hair with the entire contents of the travel-sized shampoo bottle, using her fingernails until her scalp was tingling.

When she ran out of hot water, she turned the faucet off and lathered with the bar of soap until its sharp scent had overpowered the last remnant of sulfur. She tested the water to find it had heated up again.

One she'd rinsed, she allowed herself to cry silently to relieve the pent-up stress, then just stood under the stream until the water started to run lukewarm.

When she emerged it was like she felt human for the first time since waking up in that devil's trap.  
Her clothes were gone, in their place a large grey long-sleeved men's tee and some boxer shorts. She chuckled. They were baggy on her, but she could never sleep in anything remotely form-fitting anyway. She briefly wondered who these items belonged to before deciding following that train of thought was a bad idea.

She opened the bathroom door and peered out. Sam was still at the computer, Dean on his back on the bed nearest the door watching the tv with his eyes half-closed. Sam gestured to her, his face still intent on the screen. She craned her neck to see over his shoulder and he turned with a grin on his face.

“Look, I narrowed it down to three possibles,” he pointed to three places he'd highlighted on the map. “Yesterday we had a whole city to try to search. Doesn't sound like wasted time to me.”

She was sure the credit for any breakthroughs went to Sam and Dean and the hard work they'd been doing all afternoon, but it was so kind of him to try to make her feel like what little she'd contributed mattered.

There was no point in arguing, and there was no resisting his infectious enthusiasm. “So, what's the plan now?”

Sam’s grew serious and he seemed to study her a moment. “Well, that depends . . .”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dean sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed to join the conversation.

With a flash of intuition she had an idea what it depended on; she could feel a spike of adrenaline, but knew what her answer was, “I'll do anything I can to help, just tell me what it is.” She supposed that would have been more convincing if she had managed to keep her voice steady, but there it was.

Sam gave her a small smile, “Look (Y/N), we know you want to help- and you have! No one could ask more from you after what you've been through . . .”

“Sam,” this time she didn't even bother trying to keep her voice from quivering; great, her hands were shaking again too. “Every time I close my eyes, I see the look on that girl's face as I choked the life out of her. If there is _anything_ I can do to help, even a little, I want to do it, please.”

Dang it, her eyes were brimming again, she couldn't look at either of them. They were doing that annoying telepathy thing anyway.

It was Dean who spoke up, “Okay, we get it, believe me, but there are a couple conditions if you want in on this trip.

“First,” he sighed and shook his head, “I know what it sounds like, and I know you know this already, but let me repeat it: That. Was. Not. You. I know the demon used your body, your hands, and you're the one that gets stuck with those memories, and they're not going away anytime soon. That's why it's important you get this straight. You do what you can to help us, that's fine, but you do not have to pay for what happened ‘cause it wasn't on you. We clear?”

His earnest gaze held her and she was able to regain control. She nodded and he seemed satisfied.

“Alright, next order of business. You come with us, we aren't planning on you getting anywhere near the action, but demons don't always cooperate with the plan. We will keep you safe, you have our word, but I need your word if either of us gives you an order, you follow it no matter what. If I'm not one hundred percent convinced, you're not leaving this motel room.”

“Yeah, I don't think that'll be a problem.” She gave an unconvincing try at a chuckle. Everything in her wanted to be as far away from that place as possible, but she'd meant what she said. Plus, she trusted Sam and Dean. “I promise.”

Dean nodded with an expression she couldn't place. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he looked proud or -ridiculous- a little impressed? She wasn't sure why he would be, she was convinced he could see how scared she was despite her attempts to hide it.

“Okay then, you'd better get some sleep, kid. We’ll be getting a move on before sun-up.  
“You get first watch tonight, Sammy.” He swung his legs back onto the bed and rolled over onto his stomach.

~~~  
Sam got up to turn off the tv and the main light. On his way back he paused near where (Y/N) was still perched on the edge of the bed. He scanned her face and in the few seconds before she dropped her gaze he read everything there. He was familiar enough with the dread associated with going to bed when you knew the nightmares that were waiting for you.

He hesitated, hoping to find the right words that would comfort her, not make her feel pitied.  
“I just want you to know not everyone could handle all this and keep it together so well- I'm serious. I get the feeling you don't realize how strong you are. You are going to be okay.”

She was struggling to process and accept his words. He paused, wanting that to sink in before he continued, “When I was- possessed- I could remember hurting people too. I would wake up in a panic thinking I was still a prisoner in my own mind.

“Dean must have known; it wasn't long afterward he took us to get warding tattoos. Sigils that protect you from possession.” He pulled down the top edge of his shirt collar so she could see the flaming five-point star etched on his collar bone.

“It helped, and I thought maybe . . .” he pulled a sharpie out of his pocket and held out his other hand, inviting.

She gave him her arm and he cradled her wrist in his left hand, sliding the grey shirt sleeve up over her elbow with his right. He deftly drew three sigils down the length of her inner arm while she watched, intrigued. First the anti-possession symbol he had taken, then he chose a different warding glyph, and one for protection.

He gave her a small smile in response to her sincere, “Thank you,” and lightly squeezed her wrist before releasing her.

He knew all too well they would only go so far if a demon was really determined to harm her, but he hoped they would give her peace, and that she would never get the chance to become more familiar with their world.

~~~  
Dean was used to being up at the crack of dawn, downing a styrofoam cup full of black coffee, and getting on the road.

The girl hadn't taken as much waking as he'd anticipated, although he’d scoffed at the amount of cream and sugar she'd added to her coffee. She took it good-naturedly and even joked back. She seemed like she was feeling better today.

Why did demons have to pick nice girls who wore shirts with cartoon bears on them and had enough crap to deal with without adding demon possession and memories of blood on her hands to the list? Hopefully once she pointed out the place she could sit back while they took care of every black-eyed creep that might know her face; she would be able to go home and pretend this never happened.

He glanced at her in the rearview. She was tapping her fingers against the door to the Foreigner song currently playing, the only expression of nerves he could see as she stared out the window.

They were headed for the second spot Sam had singled out- (Y/N) had seemed pretty confident the first one wasn't it. According to the map they had about ten minutes before they arrived.

As he neared the next turn, he heard her inhale so sharply it sounded like a hiss. Her fists were clenched and every muscle taut. He slowed and debated pulling over, but her head whipped up to meet his gaze in the mirror.

“You were turning left up there?”

He nodded.

“I know that turn,” her voice was muffled, she knew saying so was unnecessary at this point.

He drove cautiously after that, his eyes peeled for any sentries or anything else that seemed out of place. Occasionally he would gauge (Y/N)’s expression to confirm she was still recognizing their route.

They parked around the block. The place looked abandoned. Huh, it was really going to be a let-down if the demons had skipped town. Well, they might as well check it out.

She had been able to tell them a little about the building's layout. Dean was planning on using the back door and sending Sammy through a side entrance.

“This is the part where your job is to sit tight. We'll either be back here within 45 minutes or one of us will text you,” he handed her his other, other, phone.

“If you don't see or hear from us and an hour has gone by, you call the number for Jodi Mills in that phone, you got it? You get out of the Impala, you cut down that road on the right there and keep your head down till you reach the police station. Jodi will pick you up from there. She's a sheriff, she knows what we do; she'll make sure you're safe . . . You better hold up your end of the deal.”

“I will, just don't make me have to do all that, please. I might get lost . . . You know me and directions.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the weak attempt at a joke, “It's just a precaution. Let's roll, Sam.”


	2. Chapter 2

(Y/N) leaned her head against the car window. This was torturous. She wished she knew what was going on in there. She checked the phone for the dozenth time. Only eight minutes had passed. She groaned in frustration. 

She wasn't sure if she’d started to doze off, or if it was her worry for the guys, or something else, but she suddenly caught a flash of some images from when she was possessed. They were bad; they'd been buried deep.

She sat bolt upright. It was a trap. She'd led them straight into it. 

And what could she do about it? What could she possibly accomplish by going in there besides get herself killed? She'd promised anyway . . . 

Maybe she should call the sheriff? Yeah, and get someone else killed too, brilliant plan.

If Dean was alive he was going to kill her himself, but she was not going to sit out here safe and live happily-ever-after knowing she caused their deaths- no, that would be the worst possible thing that could happen. 

Her hand shook on the door handle, but her thoughts seemed oddly calm now that she'd made up her mind. She made for the closest door, the one Dean had chosen. She was pretty sure it led straight to the basement. She eased it open and peered in. Slipping through the opening, she painstakingly closed the door behind her without making a sound. 

The large room had been used as storage. It was dimly lit with unevenly arranged rows of sturdy shelves packed floor-to-ceiling with everything from canned food, to tools, to clothes, to random junk. All this was ideal for her ability to hide, but not so much for getting any kind of advance warning if a demon was about to stumble right into her. 

The sound of muffled voices reached her. Heart pounding, she crouched low and snuck to the end of the nearest shelf so she could just see around it. 

No sign of the source of the voices, but she could see evidence that a scuffle had taken place here. There were things knocked off the shelves, one shelf was leaning crazily against another with about a third of its contents dumped on the ground underneath the angle the two shelves now made. 

In the midst of the jumble a glimmer caught her eye. Her stomach flipped, she was pretty sure it was the shotgun Dean had brought with him. She crept over to it and stretched her hand out to touch it. Then her eyes landed on a flask nearby that she recognized from the first time she'd met them. They had used holy water from that flask to subdue the demon possessing her.

A voice suddenly rang out sharply followed by an ominous thwack. Her hand closed on the flask and she found a small measure of comfort in the fact that it felt heavy enough to be nearly full. 

She cautiously followed the next shelf, peeking around it to see what was happening. On the far side of the room, there was a flight of metal stairs leading to a heavy door. That was the way to the main floor. 

Closer to her there was a metal support beam in the middle of the room. She could only see the back of his head, which was slumped at an angle that suggested he wasn't conscious, but she was certain it was Dean tied to that beam. 

There were three other people in the room. One of them, a dark-haired athletic-looking guy, gestured toward the stairs, his face twisted into a scowl, “There! Now this one isn't going anywhere, we should be joining the hunt for the other Winchester.”

They hadn't caught Sam yet? Well at least as far as grumpy demon knew. Still, she was going to assume he was okay for now. 

The redheaded young woman scoffed at the angry dude, “I wonder, how many demons have thought they truly captured a Winchester and were killed for their idiocy? We'll stay here and do our jobs.”

A loud crash from the floor above them interrupted Grumpy’s retort and he hissed, “Stay if you want; I'm not just sitting around here waiting for a Winchester to hunt me down!” He sprinted up the stairs two at a time and threw the door open, letting it slam behind him. 

The third demon, a tall guy with short-shaven hair, had previously been leaning against the railing, seemingly bored with the argument. At the sound of the commotion he had jumped to attention and now had a hand on the rail, torn in his desire to follow the other one. 

The woman didn't seem happy either, she took two steps toward the stairs, but stopped and gritted out a sharp, “Wait!” 

Now or never. Not only was their attention firmly fixed on whatever was going on upstairs, but their shift in position meant her movements would be almost completely hidden by the shelves and the wide beam. Her heart in her throat, she inched her way closer to Dean. Her breath had never sounded so loud in her ears; she was sure they would be able to hear her heart beating, but neither of them seemed to waver from their urgent focus. 

She was right behind the pillar now. Dean's arms were stretched cruelly till his hands almost touched. They were bound with a thick rough cord, the knot pulled impossibly tight. Then there was the fact he was unconscious. She tried to quiet the panic from being so near- so close to being exposed- to the enemy, and figure out her next move. 

~~~  
Sam covered the demon's mouth with one hand to muffle the noise as his other drove the blade deep between its ribs. He slipped into the next small room, relieved when he confirmed it wasn't occupied. 

The building had most likely been used as a church. The main room was wide with a small stage and rows of benches. It was too open. If he'd stayed there he would be dead or captured by now, but he had fought his way through, and was currently playing a deadly game of hide-and-seek in the maze of small offices and child care rooms. 

Between trying to stay alive, he was desperately trying to find the door that would lead him to the basement. He could only assume since he hadn't seen or heard from Dean that he was still down there- most likely in serious trouble. 

He heard voices down the hall and picked up a desk lamp. Waiting in the doorway until he was sure the demons were just around the corner he hurled the lamp into the adjacent room, ducking out of sight behind the door. He listened as the three demons tripped over themselves rushing toward the noise and caught their reactions as they reached the body Sam had left in the hall. 

Two of them took the bait, diving into the room Sam had thrown the lamp, and began to tear it apart searching for him. One stayed in the hall crouching over the corpse looking around suspiciously. Sam could just see him in the sliver of gap between the door and the frame. 

He waited until the demon's back was mostly turned and made his move, reaching him in a few quick strides, and driving the blade down into his back. He barely stopped, heard the thump of the body hitting the ground as he passed, and reached the door of the other room in time to slam it on the arm of the demon who had heard the slight noise and decided to investigate.

The demon screamed. His buddy joined him and they crashed into the door to try to force it open, but Sam swung it wide as they collided, their rush sending them sprawling, off-balance, into the hallway. As they came through, Sam grabbed the first demon's damaged arm and used his momentum to slam him into the wall, quickly dispatching him with the blade. 

He felt the hands around his neck as he turned, the other guy had recovered quickly. The hands were incredibly strong, crushing his trachea, and Sam knew he had to find a way to loosen the grip or he was going to get choked out- or worse.

He tensed forward and felt the demon respond. Immediately he threw his body backward bringing them both to the ground. He stabbed wildly over his shoulder, pinning one of the demon's arms and breaking completely the already loosened pressure on his neck. He rolled quickly, jerked the blade out of the demon's arm and plunged it into his throat. 

Rubbing his neck and greedily gulping lungfuls of air, Sam knew he couldn't rest for long. Had to keep moving. Where the hell was Dean?

~~~  
Dean woke to a sharp pain in his upper arm. He jerked and inhaled sharply and the pressure went away. His eyes shot open and he quickly assessed the situation. The demon that had punched him out was gone. There were two of them left in the room, though they were no longer focused on him. They were fixated on the door leading up to the main floor. 

That ginger b--ch had stabbed him in the left shoulder before they tied him up. The wound was flaring and throbbing now, the source of the pain that had roused him. 

He felt a light pressure on his wrists. They were nearly numb from the rope biting into them, but he could feel someone working on the knot. He couldn't turn to see- he didn't want to alert the two clowns by the stairs something was up- but he could hear the slight whisper of breath, feel the slight shakiness of the fingers as they tried to manipulate the cords. It wasn't Sam . . .

Son of a b--ch! He clenched his jaw, biting back a growl. If they made it out of this, _someone_ was going to have to explain exactly what was so difficult to understand about the words, ‘sit tight’. 

He rotated his shoulders back as far as they would go, trying to give her a little slack to work with. It seemed to help, he could feel his bonds loosen. Then suddenly, he was free. He felt cool metal pressed into his hands and he gripped the flask of holy water. 

He hoped she would know to stay hidden. He had enough to worry about at the moment without having to divide his attention trying to keep her alive, but couldn't risk communicating that to her.

He measured the distance between him and the stairs. He was only going to have a split second where they were caught off-guard. He'd better make it count. He had his plan and made his move.

Springing up and crossing the space in a blur of motion, he whipped Ginger in the face with holy water causing her to shriek and cringe to the right of the stairs before barreling into Baldy sending him sprawling to the left. He let some space open between them and used a spray of holy water to make him stumble back further.

He could feel Ginger coming up behind him. He sent another splash of holy water right to the face of the shrieking demon in front of him and grabbed the edge of the shelf nearby, pulling with all his might. He felt her sharp nails bite into his shoulders as she tackled him. Their combined weight brought the heavy iron shelf stacked with canned goods down on top of Baldy. That would hopefully keep him busy for a while. 

Thankfully the b--ch hadn't been able to get a good hold on him. He twisted and whipped some of the contents of the flask into her face and was able to break free. He didn't have much holy water left, maybe one or two uses if he was careful. 

The ginger eyed him warily and circled. She was on her own now, but that could change any moment, and she knew he didn't have any weapons that could kill her, not on him. If he could find a way to get out with (Y/N) he could regroup, restock, and come back in for Sam. 

Suddenly, she relaxed and threw back her head in laughter. That's never a good sign . . 

She sprang at him, throwing him into the metal pillar he'd been tied to. His back collided with the edge of the beam, knocking the breath from his lungs. He rolled out of the way and raised himself to a crouch trying to get his diaphragm to work again.

She seemed in no hurry, she was confident now.  
“See, I was waiting, thinking your brother’s knife in my back was going to be the last thing I ever felt, but it was _her_ , wasn't it? She's _here_."

She raised a hand, an invisible force slamming him into the wall, and barked out over her shoulder, “Show yourself or I kill him right now!”

Dean couldn't see with the pillar in the way, but he assumed (Y/N) had done as she was told. The black eyes snapped back to Dean, exultant.

“You figured it out, right? The little cow was bait. We picked someone pathetic enough we knew you'd be sure to save her. Once you did, she was programmed to lead you right here, though I heard the demon in charge of riding her had an incredible time trying to get the location to stick. Not much upstairs, I'm afraid. Well it looks like she did her job well in the end.”

She turned her head slightly. “Do you hear me, little girl? You think you can undo it; try to make up for all the blood on your hands?” She stretched her other hand toward (Y/N) and Dean heard the sick thump of a body colliding with something solid across the room. 

The demon returned her full focus back to Dean.  
“I suppose as a reward for all her help we could let her go free . . . killing her might be a kindness though, with all the trauma of being a demon's meat suit, and the memory wiping- and then the knowledge of what she's done . . . “

“Look, are you going to talk us to death, ‘cause that's just cruel even for a demon.” His expression only showed exaggerated boredom, but he swore he was going to enjoy wiping that smug look off her face.

She snarled, and he felt his throat constricting. Now would be an excellent time to come through that door, Sammy. 

Suddenly a shot rang out.

~~~  
Sam heard the shot and froze for a second before racing toward the sound. A second shot followed the first a few minutes later. He knew every demon in the place was going to be swarming in the same direction, so he was prepared when he rounded a corner and met two goons pulling at the handle of the heavy metal door. He dispatched one of them with the knife and kicked the other one down the stairs.

He felt a surge of relief as he saw Dean grappling with a tall demon with a buzz cut. A woman with flaming hair lay on the ground seemingly lifeless. He fought a grin as his brother used the last of his canteen of holy water on his opponent and then neatly bounced the flask off its head too.

Propelling himself down the stairs, Sam took care of the writhing demon he'd sent down ahead of him and tossed Dean the knife. 

A half-dozen demons poured down the stairs, but they were met with the unstoppable force that was Sam and Dean. What followed was like an elaborate choreographed dance. The brothers had fought together all their lives and knew exactly where the other was going to be and what they needed without having to speak. 

A few more demons joined the party, but most of the second wave eventually ended up bailing their hosts when they realized what they were up against. Finally, there were only two left standing. Dean dropped his opponent with the blade. Sam had a hold of a black eyed woman who was trying to get purchase on his throat. Realizing it was alone, the demon left her and she went limp in his arms. 

He searched for a pulse as he slowly lowered her to the ground, but he didn't feel any. He shook his head. None of the previously possessed were moving and he was afraid their souls were long gone. 

Dean wiped the blade on his jacket, straightened and looked over Sam’s shoulder. “(Y/N),” his voice was low and calm like one would talk to a wild animal. 

Sam spun and saw her leaning against a shelf. Her face was pale, eyes unfocused. She had a death grip on Dean's shotgun. 

Dean cautiously approached her from the side and grabbed the barrel of the gun. “Hey, you can let go of that.”

She started and turned to him, still dazed. “I'm not sure I can.” She gave a weak attempt at a chuckle. 

Sam came around the other side and put one arm behind her shoulders supporting her. He rested his other hand on her arm. “Yes, you can.” 

She stared at her hands as if it required a lot of concentration and released the weapon one finger at a time. Dean set it aside and they lowered her to the ground till she was seated with her back still against the shelf. Sam kept one of his hands where her shoulder met her neck, he could feel her tensing, trying to keep the shaking in check. She was definitely in shock. 

“S-Sorry,” her teeth were clenched to keep them from chattering.

Dean huffed, “We'll talk about ‘sorry’ later. Sip this.” He held his other, smaller flask to her lips. She put up one hand to hold it, but Dean didn't let go as she took a small drink. Honestly, he doubted she could have kept it steady on her own. She coughed as the whisky hit her throat, but she swallowed and took another sip, and then a third when Dean prompted. 

When Dean took the flask away to take a swig himself she closed her eyes and took a few deep shuddering breaths before the drink seemed to take effect. Her trembling stilled and she regained some color. 

Dean passed the flask to Sam, then eyed (Y/N), a hint of amusement on his face, “You ever shoot a gun before?”

She licked her lips, “Um, yeah. Not a shotgun, but a rifle a couple times. And my cousin has a friend who's an instructor; I had a lesson from her on how to shoot a handgun. I didn't know how bad the kick was going to be, so I figured I should put my back against something.”

Dean shook his head and chuckled, “Well, thanks for not shooting me.”

“What happened?” Sam directed the question to Dean. 

Dean grimaced at him and shot a glance at (Y/N). She ducked her head, “I'm sorry.” Her desperate apology was barely over a whisper. 

“Hey!” Dean managed to maintain a gentleness to his tone, without leaving any room for argument, “the only thing I wanna hear you say sorry about is going back on your word and putting yourself in danger.”

He tilted his gaze back to Sam, but it was clear his explanation was for her benefit as well, “What _happened_ , is six of them jumped me and knocked me out after they tied me to that pole. She managed to sneak in here and wake me up-” he ruefully eyed a trickling stab wound on his left arm. “Then she freaking untied me and slipped me the holy water all without the two who were supposed to be guarding me noticing a damn thing. She kept herself hidden while I pinned baldy over there under a shelf.” He nodded toward the demon he'd been struggling with when Sam had first found him.

“That ginger _b--ch_ had me against the wall and started running her mouth about how this was all a set up. How they screwed with (Y/N)’s memory, and let us take her alive so she could tell us where they were waiting for us . . .” 

Sam’s eyes widened; he turned to study (Y/N). Her hands were on her knees, eyes on the ground in shame. His stomach twisted in sympathy. Dean went on in a lower voice. “(Y/N), everything that _thing_ said, it wasn't true. You know that, right? Demons lie; it's what they do.”

She wanted so badly to believe him, it was written on her face. “You don't understand, I remembered everything while I was waiting back in the car. It made me kill that random girl because I wouldn't help them. She is dead because of me. After that . . . I did whatever it wanted. You rescued me and I betrayed you.” She didn't look away this time, but she was braced waiting for them to react to this knowledge. 

Sam spoke up, “You think we're going to blame you for what was done _to_ you?” he shook his head, “(Y/N), you came running in here, _risking your life_ to try to help us- which was stupid, by the way, you get that right?” he kept his tone and expression light to make it obvious he was teasing and she rewarded him with a small smile.

He finished, “Honestly, I think the reason you were having such a hard time yesterday, was because subconsciously you knew you didn't _want_ to bring us here. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

She looked back and forth between them and let out a shaky breath. 

Dean smirked, “Dude, you should have seen that ginger b--ch’s face! She was mid-rant when (Y/N) blasted her with a salt round. She couldn't wrap her head around what just happened. I was on top of her whaling on her before she could recover and I started to exorcise her, but she bailed. Then baldy got free and was coming for me and (Y/N) shot him too . . .

“See demons don't get it. They see . . . you, and- I dunno, the panda bears, I guess. And they write you off as weak. They figured out their mistake too late . . .”

Sam interjected, “-That she's actually a freaking badass and she knows her way around a firearm?”

She laughed outright at that, “Yeah, not so much! I'm just glad Dean left the safety off when he dropped it.”

Sam stood, chuckling, and he and Dean helped (Y/N) to her feet. Sam made a quick call to anonymously report suspicious noises coming from that address, and they all more or less limped out to the impala. 

~~~   
(Y/N) sat on the hospital bed trying not to nod off again. The nurse had assured her that her parents were on their way and she was determined not to miss being able to see them when they got there. 

A nice EMT had treated the worst of her wounds, but they still had insisted on bringing her here. The police had swooped in next and asked her a barrage of questions, but Sam and Dean had made sure she had her story straight before she made the call: ‘She had been kidnapped three weeks ago, they were keeping her in an abandoned church. She'd heard screaming and gunshots and decided to escape in the chaos.’ 

The last she'd seen of the guys, they were sitting in the parked impala watching to make sure everything went smoothly when the ambulance and police came to pick her up. She knew they weren't planning on going too far. They were concerned about the demons that had escaped; that any or all of them might decide to exact some kind of vengeance with her as the target. 

She wasn't worried. She had both brothers’ numbers in case anything went wrong, she had the sigils on her arm, and she had a salt shaker by the bed. The nurse had thought her request weird, but had humored her. 

Her eyes closed of their own volition. Maybe she _would_ catch a little more sleep before her parents came. She supposed she could wait to find out what their reaction would be when she told them she was getting a tattoo.


End file.
